Chapter 3 Cornered

• Fourteen years ago, Naples.
• Santino's stomach growled. It had been two days since his last meal. The bread he'd stolen from the market was long gone.
• He crouched behind a dumpster, watching the pharmacy across the street. The old man who owned it always left the back door unlocked during lunch. Always counted his pills the same way. Always made the same mistakes.
• Santino had been watching for weeks. Learning and Planning.
• The old man locked the front door and walked away during lunchtime.
• Santino moved fast as he slipped through the alley, he tried the back door as it was unlocked Just like always.
• Inside, the pharmacy smelled like medicine and old paper. Santino knew what he was looking for. The expensive stuff. Pills that sold fast on the street.
• He filled his pockets. OxyContin. Percocet. Adderall. Enough to eat for a month.
• "What the hell are you doing?" A voice rang out as Santino spun around. A woman stood in the doorway. The pharmacist's daughter. He'd seen her before, but she wasn't supposed to be here.
• "I—" he started.
• "You're stealing from my father." She said as Santino's hand moved to the knife in his belt. But she was just a girl. Maybe his age. Maybe older.
• "Please," he said. "I'm hungry."
• "So get a job."
• "Who's going to hire me? Look at me." She looked as she saw his torn clothes. His dirty face. His hollow cheeks.
• "What's your name?" she asked.
• "Why?"
• "Just tell me."
• "Santino. Santino Leandro." Her eyes widened. "You're Ben's son." Everyone knew his father. The man who broke kneecaps for money. The man who made people disappear.
• "He's dead," Santino said.
• "I know. I'm sorry."
• "No, you're not." She stepped closer. "My father could help you. Give you work. Real work."
• "Why would he do that?"
• "Because you're not like your father. I can see it." Santino almost laughed. "You don't know me."
• "I know you didn't hurt me when you could have. That means something." She was right. He could have pushed past her. Could have threatened her. Could have been like his father.
• But he wasn't. Not yet. "What kind of work?" he asked. "Deliveries. Cleaning. Simple stuff."
• "How much?"
• "Enough to eat, Maybe a place to sleep." It sounded too good to be true. It probably was.
• "What's your name?" Santino asked.
• "Sofia."
• "Why help me, Sofia?" She shrugged. "Everyone deserves a chance."
• Santino emptied his pockets. Put the pills back where they belonged. Every last one. "Tell your father I'll work," he said.
• Sofia smiled. "I will." They walked toward the front of the store together. Through the windows, Santino could see the street. See people walking by like they had somewhere to go.
• "There's just one thing," Sofia said.
• "What?"
• "My father can't know about this. About you being here. About the pills."
• "Why?"
• "Because he'd never trust you if he knew you were a thief." Santino nodded. It made sense.
• They reached the front door as Sofia unlocked it. "Come back tomorrow morning," she said. "Eight o'clock. Ask for work. Act like we've never met."
• "What if he says no?"
• "He won't. I'll make sure of it." Santino stepped outside. The sun felt warm on his face. For the first time in months, he had hope.
• He started walking down the street, thinking about tomorrow. About work. About Sofia. He didn't see the police car until it was too late.
• "Hey!" a voice shouted. "Stop right there!" Santino looked back as two cops were getting out of their car. Running toward him.
• He ran. His feet pounded against the pavement. His lungs burned. Behind him, he could hear them getting closer. "Stop! Police!" Santino turned into an alley. A dead end. As there were walls on three sides. No way out.
• He pressed himself against the brick, breathing hard. Trapped. The cops appeared at the mouth of the alley. Both had their hands on their guns.
• "Nowhere to run now, kid," one of them said.
• The older cop had Gray hair. Cold eyes. Santino had seen him before. Officer Rossi. The one who'd been asking questions about his father. "Turn around," Rossi said. "Hands on the wall."
• "I didn't do anything."
• "We'll see about that." The younger cop stayed by the entrance. Blocking the exit as Rossi walked closer.
• "Santino Leandro," he said. "Ben’s boy."
• "What do you want?"
• "Information."
• "About what?"
• "Your father had friends. Bad friends. We want to know about them." Santino said nothing.
• "See, we know Ben was working for someone big. Someone important. Before he died, he was setting up a major deal. We want to know who it is."
• "I don't know anything." Rossi's smile wasn't a nice smile.
• "That's what they all say. But everyone knows something. Question is, what's it going to take to make you talk?" He reached for his nightstick. "I can do this easy way or hard way, kid. Your choice."
• Santino looked at the wall. At the ground. At the cops blocking his escape. Then he remembered something. Something his father had taught him.
• "When you're trapped, you make them pay for trapping you." Santino's hand moved to his knife.
• "Hard way it is," Rossi said as the alley erupted into chaos.